


Heroines and Martyrs

by Shippershape



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of the Lazarus Pit, rescue gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6136633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippershape/pseuds/Shippershape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s there, tied to a chair, looking unbelievably small and still, and for a second she thinks it’s too late.</p><p>“No,” she gasps, leaping forward, and that moment is her mistake, her emotions betray her training. He’s cold under her fingers, but begins to stir at her touch. His eyes drag open, and when he sees her, he groans.</p><p>“I was really hoping you weren’t this stupid,” he mutters, and she frowns.</p><p>---</p><p>After Leonard gets captured, Sara goes after him. But some days are just destined to end in tragedy, and he makes her a promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I binged the first five episodes of LOT and had a lot of feelings. This will go up in 2 parts, with a possible epilogue as well. I really hope you like it, and comments are appreciated!
> 
> P.S. If you're really upset at the end of this chapter, check the archive warnings for the story. Notice one that's missing?

It’s a setup. She knows that, going in. It was too easy to find him, too easy to get inside. She doesn’t make the others wait outside because they’d get in the way, though that’s the excuse she gives Rip. She makes them wait outside because every instinct in her body is screaming that she’s about to walk directly into a trap.

Mick was the hardest to convince. He’d been adamant about going in with her, _that’s my partner in there, Blondie_ , but Snart would never forgive her if she let something happen to the brooding arsonist. In the end it took threatening to drug him and lock him back on the Waverider to get him to agree to wait outside with the others. There aren’t any guards when she slips into the warehouse, no patrol outside, no men on the inside either. It’s entirely wrong, and every cell in her body wants to get out of there, but they have Leonard. So she creeps on.

The main section of the depot is totally abandoned, but Sara knows that Snart, and what’s sure to be a plethora of assailants, are waiting in the office. So that’s where she heads, footsteps silent on the concrete, eyes sweeping the exposed space. She comes to the office door, and years of training have prepared her to be ready for anything, but despite the many anomalies in her life, she’s still human. Taking a deep breath, she kicks the door open.

He’s there, tied to a chair, looking unbelievably small and still, and for a second she thinks it’s too late.

“No,” she gasps, leaping forward, and that moment is her mistake, her emotions betray her training. He’s cold under her fingers, but begins to stir at her touch. His eyes drag open, and when he sees her, he groans.

“I was _really_ hoping you weren’t this stupid,” he mutters, and she frowns.

“Who says I-”

She hears the whistling of a fist flying through the air, just a fraction of a second of warning, but it’s enough. She whirls around, catching the fist in her hand and using it to catapult her assailant across the room. Her entire body falls into fighting stance, knees bent, weight on her toes.

“And yet, _I_ knew someone would come. You people are so predictable.” Savage waltzes in, flanked by two other men. He frowns at the groaning stooge on the ground. “You know, I’m really not surprised it was you. I _had_ hoped it would be Chay-ara, but…” He shrugs. When he waves two fingers at Snart, his henchmen move forward, reaching for the half-unconscious thief. Sara catches the first one by the throat, flipping him into a heap on top of the other.

Savage raises an eyebrow.

“Protective, are we?”

The monster creeps into her blood as she stares at him, chest heaving. Suddenly, he blinks out of sight, disappearing into thin air.

“Wha-” She gasps. That’s a new trick. Then she hears a smacking blow, and a groan behind her. She spins around in time to see Savage standing over Leonard, whose mouth is dripping with blood.

“You seem to forget that it’s been almost ten years since we’ve seen each other. Although you’ve aged spectacularly well.” Savage muses, flexing his hand. “I’ve learned a few things since then.”

“Apparently,” she replies, mouth dry. Her eyes are trained on him, watching, but the overwhelming desire to make sure Leonard is alright is pulling at her focus.

“So, I have some questions for you, and you’re going to answer them, or your little friend over here will go the same way as Prince Khufu.”

Her hands curl into fists. Humans, she can take. Even other league-trained assassins. But demi-gods?

“Why are you and your little team of heroes so interested in me? Simply because of your Captain’s vendetta?”

She presses her lips together.

“Yes.” She can’t tell him the truth. It’s one thing for him to find out about Rip’s mission for revenge. It’s another thing entirely for Vandal Savage to find out that he’s very close to wiping out life as they know it. He studies her face, then smiles sympathetically.

“Ah. You’re lying. That’s too bad.” His fist sinks into Snart’s stomach, causing the smaller man to grunt in pain. The red dripping down his chin seems to expand, filtering across her entire field of vision. Everything turns scarlet. It’s a warning sign, and she knows it.

“How about you and I take this outside, and you pick on someone who isn’t restrained and half conscious?” she suggests. He shakes his head.

“No, I think this will be much more effective.” Something glints in his hand, and she recognizes the same blade that was used to take out Carter. Still dazed, Leonard eyes the knife as well, face tightening in apprehension.

“I’ll break your neck before the blade breaks his skin,” she growls, the red haze taking over. It feels like electricity is running through her veins, buzzing under her skin. He takes a step toward Snart, and her control snaps. The demon takes over. Before any of the men in the room can blink, she’s sinking a knife of her own through Savage’s ribs, feeling the satisfying pop as she punctures his heart. He wheezes, struggling to take in air, and she twists the knife.

“Sara.”

Hand still clamped around the knife, she can hear her name, distorted, like it’s coming from far away.

“ _Sara_.”

Leonard’s voice, slightly weak but still firm, penetrates the sound of blood roaring in her ears. She releases the knife, and Savage, and they fall to the ground with a thud. Her hands are soaked in red, and she wipes them on her thighs before turning to face him.

“Are you okay?” She asks, crouching down to untie him.

“I’ll live. Unfortunately, so will Savage.” He coughs, and she can hear something wrong in it. A broken rib maybe. The ties fall away, and he rotates his shoulders with a sigh, stretching his arms.

“Can you walk?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Snart says, nodding toward the pile of bodies in the corner. Two of them are beginning to move. “It looks our friends are waking up.”

Putting an arm around his waist, she tugs him up and out of the chair. He’s leaning heavily on her, but manages to limp forward. It’s clear that Savage’s men had a bit of fun with him before she got there.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he mutters, and she can practically feel his frustration at their slow pace. She doesn’t like it either, but she’s not sure she’s strong enough to carry him. And even if she was, she doubts he’d allow it.

“We have a code, remember?”

 “I don’t remember it including suicide.”

“You could just say thank you,” she says with a sigh, the feeling of being followed beginning to prickle at the back of her neck.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he repeats.

“Damn it,” she swears, trying to hurry and practically dragging him in the process. His grip on her shoulder tightens, and he winces. She’s trying not to jostle him too much, but they’re running out of time.

“What?” he wants to know.

“They’re about to catch us,” she says with a sigh, because she knows their odds going at this speed. They’re not going to make it.

“So leave me.”

She almost stops, almost turns to stare at him when he says it, but instinct pushes her forward.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Sara-”

“Shut up,” she says angrily. “I didn’t go through all of this just to leave you fifty feet from the door.”

He falls quiet, and she doesn’t like it. He’s only quiet when he’s thinking, and that never leads to anything good. She knows when the first blow is coming, and pushes Leonard to the ground. The guard’s fist bounces off her shoulder, and she hisses, but she rounds on him with a solid kick, knocking him backwards.

“Stay down,” she commands Snart. Leaping back to her feet, she swings at the second attacker, landing a hit squarely in the face. His nose breaks, blood immediately pouring from his nostrils like a faucet. Behind her, she hears the first guard go for Leonard. Sliding a throwing knife out of her belt, she flings it behind her, satisfied when the pained grunt comes from an unfamiliar voice.

It only takes her another minute or so to subdue the one who’s left, and then she turns back to Leonard. He’s still laying where she left him, watching the guard beside him bleed out impassively. She reaches down and pulls him back to his feet.

“Alright?”

He looks at her. His eyes are dark, troubled. They sweep over her face, locking onto her own gaze, and she gets the feeling he’s looking for something.

“Leonard,” she repeats, shaking his shoulders gently. “Are you alright?”

He blinks.

“Sure.” When she continues to frown at him, he raises an eyebrow. “Weren’t we in the middle of a daring escape?”

Rolling her eyes, she resumes her effort in half guiding, half dragging him toward the door. She can see it, the flash of grey in the corner of the wall, the red exit sign. They’re almost there. And then the hairs on the back of her neck stand up again. But this time it’s different.

It barely takes her a second to make the decision. She lunges forward, practically throwing Snart outside. He looks startled, for a moment, before he lands in a crumpled heap on the sidewalk. And then his eyes snap back to her, widening as she slams the door shut behind him.

The first bullet doesn’t make it through the suit. But the spear does.

The noise that comes out of her mouth is half cry, half growl. Pain razes her stomach as the lance goes all the way through. She falls to her knees, the sensation that her insides are being torn apart deepening as her legs hit the ground.

“Bitch,” the man who speared her spits, a face she doesn’t recognize. Probably one of Savage’s men, out for revenge after finding their boss laying in a pool of his own blood. But it’s her blood that’s pooling now beneath her feet, her scream as the man rears back, ripping the spear from her body. Her fingers claw at her sides, finding the wound. It’s a hole. She can put her fingers through it.

It takes every ounce of discipline, every memory of her training, but she pushes back to her feet. She sways there, Laurel’s face flashing before her eyes, her father’s smile. What happens to them if she dies again? Will they even know?

Her fists come up, and this time the haze dancing around her vision is black. She doesn’t want to die again, at least not without taking her killer down too. His mouth has dropped open in shock, staring at her as she struggles to focus her eyes.

She manages to land one good punch, the twisting motion only adding to the feeling that her entire abdomen is torn to shreds. But it’s enough to send him down, and his head cracks sickly on the pavement. He won’t be coming after her anytime soon.

Excruciatingly, she turns for the door, managing to get two steps before collapsing. The concrete comes up to meet her, cold and unforgiving as she slams into it. It knocks the air from her lungs, and she finds herself dazed and paralyzed. Surprisingly, it’s not the idea of dying here that presses down on her chest like an anvil.

She just doesn’t want to die alone.

As though she willed it, the door, only a few feet away from her, flies open. Leonard tears inside, stumbling a little. When his eyes find her, half curled into a ball on the floor, he swears.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he says again, even as he falls to his knees beside her, noticing the hole in her side with a flicker of rage.

“A little late for that,” she rasps, wincing.

“Is that a _spear_?” She hears Ray ask in the background.

“Jesus,” Mick mumbles. “They skewered her.”

Leonard actually cringes at that, hand floating down to hover by her wound.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, beginning to feel tired, limbs heavy. “I know it’s bad.”

“Mmm that’s true,” he admits, and she would almost buy the casual tone if his voice wasn’t shaking. “Luckily for you we’ve got that nifty 22nd century tech back on our spaceship to fix you right up.”

She laughs, which is a mistake. It just fills her mouth with more blood than before, and she can’t breathe. Snart rolls her enough that she can spit it out, gasping. His hands linger, one under her neck, the other on her arm.

“S’alright, Len,” she mumbles. Why is it so cold? “This ain’t my first rodeo…or…funeral.” It’s getting harder to talk, her tongue feels enormous and heavy.

For the first time, it really occurs to her that she’s not going to make it. Then another thought seizes her, one that bothers her far more than the first. She grabs at Leonard’s chest, suddenly urgent.

“Promise me.” Her hand curls into the material of his jacket, an iron grip.

“What?” He stares down at her, confusion mixing with alarm.

“You have to promise you won’t let them do it again!” Her voice comes out loud enough to echo in the empty warehouse, but the pain is beginning to darken her vision around the edge, and this is important. This is everything.

“Do _what_?”

“I don’t want to come back that way,” she coughs, and the metallic taste of blood fills her mouth once more, bubbling over her lips. “You can’t let them use the Pit-”

His ice blue eyes widen in understanding, a hand coming to wrap around her own on his chest.

“There’s no need to be dramatic,” but his voice is strained, eyes dark with something suspiciously resembling fear. “Gideon will take care of this, and you’ll be back to your usual violent self in-”

“Leonard!” Her voice comes out as commanding as she can manage given the steady stream of blood now gurgling past her lips. “Promise me!”

His hand tightens around hers, so hard she thinks it might hurt if she could even feel her fingers anymore. Then he nods.

“Okay. No Lazarus Pit. You have my word.”

A tear of relief spills over, hot on her cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispers, though she doubts he can even understand her through all the blood and the shaking and the numbness of her lips. The black begins to creep in, and for once, she’s not afraid. Of herself, or dying, or any of it. She feels free. “Thank you.”

And then, finally, she lets it in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the conclusion! I hope it turned out alright, but I had fun writing it either way. Let me know what you think!

Sara knows what it feels like to die. She also knows what it feels like to come back. It’s violent, and angry and sharp. Which is why she’s confused when her eyes flutter open, and they’re greeted with the soft light of early morning, and quiet. She blinks, even the dim light harsh against her eyes, and as the room slowly comes into focus, she recognizes the walls of the infirmary. She’s on the Waverider.

She’s alive.

For a moment, she’s furious. She told them not to bring her back, begged Snart not to put her back in the Pit.

And then she notices the lack of feral rage, the absence of a craving bordering on bloodlust, and she realizes what that means. They didn’t put her back in the Pit. She just…survived. It seems impossible, but maybe Snart was right. Maybe Gideon is just that good.

“Good Morning, Miss Lance. How are you feeling?”

Sara opens her mouth to answer, then jumps as the mass of blue she’d mistaken for a bundle of blankets beside her bed startles awake.

“Leonard?” She asks, but all that comes out is a kind of sigh. Clearing her throat, she tries again. “What’s going on?”

Realizing she’s awake, he sits up, face unreadable.

“Well. You’re alive,” he mutters, but his voice is unusually soft. Her hand goes to her waist, settling on the bandage there, under a shirt someone else must have put her in. If the hole in her side is anything to go by, her suit is going to need some repairs. And probably a stain treatment. The wound screams when she sits up, but something about laying there makes it all feel too surreal. Leonard slides to his feet, hands coming up in front of him. “Woah, Xena, where’s the fire? I’d lay back down, if I were you.”

“Mr. Snart is right. Exerting yourself greatens the chances of reopening the wound, which will delay your healing process,” Gideon chimes in. Sara rolls her eyes.

“Len…” and she doesn’t know when he became Len to her, just Len, but it was probably sometime between being impaled and accepting the fact that she was dying. Although, apparently, she hadn’t. “You didn’t let them use the Pit?” She already knows the answer, knows what it would feel like if they had. But she needs to hear someone say it.

“No.” His blue eyes are sharp, but honest, and she nods, sagging in relief. Then- “I almost did.”

Her head snaps back up, instantly on edge.

“What? Why?”

He shrugs, the movement decidedly casual.

“There was a moment where you weren’t…and Jax brought it up. He doesn’t really know what it is, obviously. He just suggested we do whatever your sister did the first time.”

Her heart kicks off, anxiety constricting her chest, nails scraping against the cool metal of the bedframe as her hands curl into fists.

“But you _promised_ ,” she says, and her voice comes out desperate as she realizes how close she was to going through that again.

“You came after _me_ , I didn’t need your blood on my hands. I have a code, remember?” His eyes flash dangerously. She hops off the cot, swaying from a mixture of vertigo and anger.

“Listen to me. You’ve known me what, two months? You never _knew_ me before. You have no idea what the Lazarus Pit does to people. The thing that came out of it was barely human. If you put me in it again, the monster is the _only_ thing that will come back out.” She’s breathing heavily, finding standing to be more work than she remembers.

“Get back in bed,” Leonard snaps, but she ignores him.

“I asked you to make that promise because you were the only person on this team I trusted to follow through. And you. Promised. Me.” She pants, poking him with each word. He catches her finger in his fist, glaring at her.

“Sara, get back in bed.”

“No!” She shoves him, some of the anger from earlier finally surfacing again. “This is my life, Snart. _My_ soul. I need you to promise me that the next time this happens you won’t let them put me back in the Pit! And I need you to _mean_ it!”

Suddenly, she finds herself laying down again, back pressed against the cot, Leonard’s hands at her wrists. She could still easily take him, even in this state, but she just blinks up at him in surprise.

“What the _hell_ ,” he snarls, “do you mean by next time? The next time you get impaled? The next time you get yourself killed?” He seems to realize that he’s pinning her there and lets go, shaking his head in disgust. “I don’t think so.”

She stares at him.

“What we do is dangerous. I thought that was obvious,” she says slowly, still a little dazed by his outburst.

“Which is exactly why I knew what I was getting myself into when I broke into Savage’s depot. And why you shouldn’t have come after me.” He sounds tired, but there’s still fire in usually icy blue eyes.

“I wasn’t going to leave you behind! We’re a team, Mick needs you, and I-”

“You what?”

Time seems to stop as he stares at her, and Sara knows what that feels like now, she’s lived it.

“I owed you.” She says. He’s the one who talked her out of killing Stein. He’s the reason she’s retained any semblance of humanity over the past few months. The reason she still feels vaguely like herself, despite how close he was to letting her be consumed wholly by the darkness. The disappointment on his face now surprises her.

“Right.” He turns to go. “Well, consider us square.”

“Wait.” She doesn’t want him to go. He freezes half in the doorway. “Are you…how’s your rib?”

Slowly, he spins to face her again.

“How do you know about that? Did you hear-” he stops himself, and she finds herself curious as to what the rest of that sentence was going to be.

“I could tell, at the warehouse.” For the first time since waking up, she really looks at him. He has an impressive black eye, already beginning to yellow at the edges, which makes her wonder how long she’s been out. He’s still walking gingerly, favoring his left side, and the knuckles on his right hand are scabbed and bruised, though she doesn’t remember it being injured in the escape.

“I’m fine,” he shrugs. “But how very noble of you to ask.” His words are laced with more disdain than he usually directs at her, and she senses that whatever argument they just had isn’t over.

“What happened to your hand?”

He glances down, like he’s forgotten. Flexing it, his face changes, layers of his mask sliding back into place.

“Got it when Savage had his guys put the beat down on me,” he says smoothly. He’s lying.

“I don’t remember you having that when I got there,” she retorts, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, well.” He looks away first, and she’d normally consider that a victory, but something is beginning to feel very wrong here. “Your heart gave out before we could get you back to the ship. Your brain was without oxygen for a few minutes. _Apparently_ that can cause memory loss, among other things. But at least you’re not a vegetable,” he sounds shockingly bitter.

“Oh.” As that sinks in, she studies him further. It’s hard to tell beneath the bruising, but there are dark circles under his eyes, and he’s even paler than usual, like he hasn’t been outside in days. “How long was I out?”

He picks disinterestedly at his cuticles.

“Six days.”

“ _What?”_ That’s impossible. Under the league’s training, she conditioned her body to never sleep longer than twelve hours, even while healing. The only exception to that was when she was dead. And you don’t get much rest when you no longer exist. Whoever coined the term “you can sleep when you’re dead” had clearly never actually experienced it. “How is that possible?”

His gaze flits lazily over to her, brow furrowing. You would never know that a few minutes ago he’d been yelling and slamming her into the furniture.

“You were on some pretty good sedatives for the first few days, although they tried to dry you out two days ago.”

“Tried?”

“Everyone assumed you’d be up in no time after we stopped the drugs, given your usual…tenacity. But that was-” He breaks off, glancing at his watch.

“Intravenous sedatives were discontinued 53 hours, 27 minutes ago,” Gideon recites. They both stare at the speaker box on the ceiling, having forgotten it could hear them.

“So you certainly took your time.” His frown is thoughtful, unsure. She feels it again, that certainty that something has changed. She just can’t put her finger on it.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she says, with a weak smile.

“Slacker,” he mutters, though his own lips twitch.

Hating herself for ruining the moment, just as things are getting back to normal, she bites her lip.

“You can’t back out on me again. I need you in my corner on this,” her voice is soft, pleading. The others on the team might not have any interest in the Lazarus Pit, she still clearly remembers the ease with which they moved on after Carter. But her family would find out eventually. And Laurel’s already done it once. She can’t afford to take the chance.

His face immediately goes blank, neutral, all traces of mirth disappearing.

“The novelty of playing executor of your will has kind of worn off. But if you’re really set on it I’d be happy to call you a lawyer.”

“Damnit, Snart.” She fights the urge to throw something at him. “This is important to me, and I know that doesn’t mean much to you, but-”

“You think I almost dunked you in the magical Jacuzzi because I _don’t_ care?” he asks, incredulously. She blinks.

“This isn’t a joke!” She bristles, that red haze beginning to make a comeback. “I died! I didn’t want to come back! I wasn’t _supposed_ to! And every day I wake up and I can feel that, like part of me never did. Like part of me is still dead. You can’t possibly understand what that’s like. I’m asking you to take my word for it, because it’s my life on the line!”

“Oh you don’t think I’m taking this _seriously?_ ” he growls, spinning to trap her against the cot, his hand on either side of her legs where they hang over.

“Not seriously enough! You almost resurrected me! Without having any idea what it mea-”

“WE ALMOST LOST YOU!” He shouts, and she’s never seen him yell, not like this, or at all. His eyes are twin blue flames, burning her in their intensity, and she doesn’t understand why he’s so angry. It’s unsettling to see him lose his unwavering cool like this, but some perverted part of her finds it intriguing.

“You-”

“Yes, I _promised_ you,” he spits, spinning on his heel as he begins to pace. “But that was before you were actually dying. That was before I had to watch your heart stop and carry your dead body into this infirmary and before I had _feelings_.” The last word comes out like a curse, venomous.

“Feelings…” She stares at him. “What are you talking about?”

He takes a ragged breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. As though in an effort to calm himself, he closes his eyes.

“I have trusted exactly three people in my life. My sister, Mick, and for some bizarre reason, you.”

She’s staring at him when he opens his eyes again, shocked.

“Having you on this team makes my presence here feel less…ridiculous. Less like I’m playing GI Joe until the next good job comes along. Apparently I’ve gotten attached.” It sounds more like the admission of a humiliating secret than a proclamation of any kind, but Sara sifts through his words to try and find their real meaning.

“To me?”

“Mr. Snart has spent approximately 140 of the past 149 hours in the infirmary.”

At Gideon’s words, Sara has to clap a hand to her mouth to cover the smile. Leonard looks irritated.

“I guess,” he drawls slowly, “you could say that.”

“That’s sweet,” she says, still struggling to conceal her grin. He sighs.

“I don’t really _do_ declarations,” he warns her.

“I think you just did.”

He scowls.

“Len,” she reaches down, grabbing his hand in hers. For a second he looks uncomfortable, but then she runs a thumb across his wrist and he relaxes into it. “You have to understand, if something happens to me, you’re going to lose me either way. If you bring me back, you’re not going to recognize the thing that I become. It’s not worth it.”

“I like a little darkness,” he murmurs, leaning into her touch.

“It wouldn’t be me,” she says firmly. “You never saw it the first time, and it would only be worse the second time around. It’s like…” she shakes her head at the memory, at the way she can still feel it inside her. “A rabid animal.”

“I don’t know if I can make that promise again. Not if you want me to mean it.”

She sighs.

“I went after you when Savage took you because I wanted to. Not because of the code, not because you’re part of the team. I guess I’m a little attached too.” She offers him a sad smile. “But I wouldn’t do it to you. If something happened, if you-”

His hand comes up, fingers tracing along her cheek.

“I wouldn’t bring you back. It’s worse than dying.” She finishes. His hand stills.

“Alright.”

Confused, she narrows her eyes at him.

“Alright?”

“Alright, I won’t let them bring you back again. You have my word.”

She makes a noise halfway between a sob and a _thank you_ , and sinks into him, face pressing into his chest. He wraps an arm around her, hand resting on the back of her head.

“I’m not big on crying,” he finally says, and she laughs into his shirt, pulling back.

“It won’t happen again,” she assures him. Her eyes fall onto his battered hand, and she takes it in hers, examining the mottle of purple and red. “So, how did you say this happened?”

He cringes, not meeting her eye. Following his gaze, she sees a cluster of dents in the metal wall opposite her.

“Oh,” she sighs. “Stupid.” He shrugs.

“Can’t really argue with that.”

 Silence falls again as they stay like that, her sitting on the cot, running her fingers gently over his injuries. This time it’s comfortable, something she never expected to find with him. The truth is, she feels more like herself in this moment than she has in months. He’s seen the worst of her, and she suspects it’s only made him respect her more. He might be a criminal, and a bit emotionally unavailable, but if she’s being honest with herself that’s turning out to be exactly her type.

Finally, Leonard speaks.

“If you call me Len in front of Mick I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Fighting a smile, she shakes her head.

“I’ll make sure to do it every chance I get,” she assures him. He rolls his eyes, but she’s never seen his face so soft. He gives her hand a quick squeeze before pulling his away.

“I should let you get some sleep. I’m sure Rip’s itching to get you back in fighting shape so he can avenge his family, save the world and all that.” He sounds a little unsure, but he’s already starting to step back, away from her. Her hand snakes out, fisting in the material of his shirt. His eyes follow the movement, brow furrowing.

“Wha-”

But his words are drowned out as she jerks him toward her, crushing her lips to his. She obviously surprised him, but he recovers quickly, closing the distance he just put between them, pressing himself in between her legs. His hand skims over her hips, hitting the bandage there, a reminder of everything they’ve been through in the past week. But instead of pulling away again, he just settles it in the center of her back, pushing her lightly against him. He’s warm, and it seems stupid that something so obvious surprises her, but he does call himself Captain Cold. He’s practically burning up against her now, the heat seeping through the layers of his shirt, and hers. Never much skin exposed, something she noticed a few weeks into this little adventure, but she manages to find enough, sliding one hand between the black cotton of his shirt and his stomach. At the touch, he groans, teeth raking her bottom lip, a warning. She lets her nails scrape lightly against the skin above his belt, and his hand curls into a bruising grip on her hip. She gasps, partly from pleasure, but mostly from the flash of pain that sears through her stomach at his grasp.

He jerks away, hands flying off of her.

“I-” His eyes are dark, the blue almost entirely eclipsed by black, but his mouth twists into a thin line as she clutches at her side. “I’m sorry.”

The throbbing slowly subsides, and she stares up at him, hating the guilt in his expression.

“It’s fine.” Her hand falls to rest on her thigh, but he doesn’t move. “I’m fine, Leonard.”

“Good,” but he suddenly seems stiff and uncomfortable, and won’t meet her eye. “I should probably shower…grab a nap.”

She hops off the cot, wincing as the impact of her feet on the metal floor jars her injury.

“I’ll join you.”

“Lance,” he looks at her, exasperated. “You have a hole in your side. That’s probably not a good idea.”

“But-”

“When you’re all up and running again,” he says quietly, finally stepping forward again to cup her chin in his hand. “I will definitely be cashing in on that offer. But until then, you need to get your little Canary ass back into bed.”

Slightly mollified, she tries to. But lifting herself up turns to be an exercise in more pain. Leonard just rolls his eyes, placing his hands at the top of her ribs and lifting her gently back onto the cot. Her smile grows at the way he’s obviously embarrassed at the act of tenderness.

“You’re sweet,” she tells him, just because it will annoy him. Predictably, he scowls.

“Watch your tongue,” but his voice is still soft, underneath the menacing glare. “I’ll be back later. I’m sure Kendra and Raymond will want to drop in and express their excitement that you’re not a vegetable. And I don’t do emotional reunions.”

Fighting the urge to remind him, again, that he just did, Sara nods.

He drops his hand and turns to go, collecting his jacket from the chair as he does.

As he gets to the door, she finds she can’t help herself.

“Leonard?”

“Mmm?” He glances back at her.

“Try not to get kidnapped again.”

His long-suffering sigh echoes in the room after he’s gone, and Sara lays back with a grin. All in all, this has been much better than the last time died.

 


End file.
